WRATH: A Hannigram Fanfiction

18- Le Baiser

When Hannibal finally pulled into his driveway and stopped the car, Will stirred in the sudden silence. He opened his eyes, glancing at the clock on the dashboard— it was only half past eight— and looked over at Hannibal with a questioning gaze. He was still sleepy, soft around the edges, and the sight was breathtaking.
"We're home," Hannibal said. "Can you walk?"
A groggy nod as Will fumbled for the door handle. His legs were shaky, so Hannibal wrapped his fingers around Will's forearm and led him to the garage door. Will didn't object. Light rain sprinkled down onto them, making Will's hair sparkle under the porch light.
Both of them took off their shoes at the door. Will stared at the floor as Hannibal led him back to the master suite. The two stopped by the bathroom door, where they faced each other, and Will finally lifted his head.
"I want you to shower," Hannibal said, kind but firm. "I'll take your clothes and wash them— you can leave them out here. I'll make the bed down, and you can get right in. Is that alright?"
Will nodded. His eyes were sad, the shining eyes of a beaten dog, and he refused to speak.
"Take as long as you need. Here." Hannibal went over to his dresser and pulled out a clean pair of boxers, handing them to Will before ushering him into the bathroom. "Use anything you want."
Will began to unbutton his shirt, and Hannibal closed the door.
After making the bed down and starting a fire in the drafty bedroom, Hannibal reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his prize. He brought the meat into the kitchen and unwrapped it on the counter's built-in cutting board. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of his filthy jacket sleeves, dried blood on his hands. There was no way in Hell that he'd waltz around in his pristine kitchen without changing first.
He showered in the small guest bath, letting the water run cold over his body. He only stayed in long enough to soap himself off, and then he quickly dressed in a red sweater and checkered lounging pants. Now he was somewhat presentable. Cozy, at least.
Back into the kitchen. He scrubbed his hands clean and rinsed the meat of blood and debris, feeling its cold gristle with his hands. Shiny, pink and white, it glistened as Hannibal licked his lips. He stopped himself; he was being greedy. He'd eaten only days ago. This was for Will.
A dash of oil in the skillet. He pan-seared the meat until it was just cooked. Transferred it off the heat and shredded it into small pieces with a pair of forks, dropping each piece into a small bowl. He retrieved the stock from the fridge, the kind he'd crafted from the finest black-boned silkie, pouring some into the pot and combining it with the meat. Carrots and onions, chopped with such speedy precision that his hands were impossible to follow, all added to the pot. Ginseng, star anise, stir, stir, stir. The kitchen smelled savory.
Hannibal added a dash of milk and prepared a buttered slice of homemade sourdough; Will needed the sustenance. He made sure the chunks of meat were small enough so Will wouldn't choke, and when he was satisfied he left it to simmer. He fixed a tall glass of ice water with a squeeze of fresh lemon, and he took the drink into the bedroom.
Will's clothes lay on the hallway floor in a heap. Hannibal picked them up and pressed them to his nose, slowly inhaling Will's scent. Under the overwhelming scent of blood, there was dirt and musk and the smell of his dogs. The aroma made his head spin.
With remorse, he threw them into the fire. Will could borrow his clothes.
After about fifteen minutes, he checked on the soup, which was simmering nicely. He'd diced the vegetables small enough that they had already softened, so he decided he was satisfied. He dished a small portion into a bowl, leaving some for himself, then put it on a tray with the bread and carried it back.
Will was sitting upright in the bed, examining the dent in his left shoulder. Hannibal stopped in the doorway, staring at his toned shoulders, the bones of his collar, his square chest...he had the most beautiful body Hannibal had ever seen, and that was just the upper half.
Tranquility had a dent in his left wing. The memory shocked him.
"I'd like for you to eat, if you're up for it." Hannibal finally got his wits about him and entered the room. The water glass was already empty. Will ground his jaw, and Hannibal heard ice crunch in his teeth.
He approached and set the tray in Will's lap. He gave a soft smile— Will smelled of lavender and pine. He'd used Hannibal's soap. Will just stared at the tray before shaking his head.
"You don't want it?" Another shake. "Can you tell me why you don't want it?"
Will picked up the silver spoon and fished out a small piece of meat. He held it up, and his stare was accusing. Hannibal sighed.
"I would never fix you anything inappropriate," he told Will. "But if you insist. If you're starving later, I'll bring you more bread." He picked up Will's empty glass. "I'll get you some more water."
He left the tray on Will's lap as he walked out. Figuring he wanted to be left alone for a moment, Hannibal lingered in the kitchen, taking a few bites of what was left in the pot. He was pleased with himself; the meat was tender, the broth savory and warm. The corner of his mouth quirked up.
"Thank you, Elliot," he murmured to himself before finally returning to the bedroom.
It had only been a few minutes, but the sight when he entered the bedroom was multitudes different from before. Will was scraping the bottom of the bowl with the bread crust, desperate for every last drop of the meal. The bowl looked nearly licked clean, meat and all.
Will's head snapped up, and his eyes were wild. Hannibal, stunned, wordlessly gave him the glass of water and watched him chug it. His face was flushed, color returning to him.
"...I assume you enjoyed it."
Will swallowed and nodded. His pupils were massive, and he was much more alert than before. Hannibal recognized all of the signs: it was the same primal reaction he himself had experienced early on, before he began to nourish himself regularly. Relief and ferocity now that his starving soul was finally satiated. How long had it been since his Angel had eaten? The thought of Tranquility being on Earth for all this time without even a taste sent a somber anxiety through Hannibal. Poor, sweet thing.
Will set the glass of water on the table, swallowing his last gulp. He leaned against the pillows as if he was exhausted.
"Can you speak to me, Will?" No response. Like speaking was some new, foreign concept. His arm was pink and shiny, a classic burned look. "Hold on. Lie down for me, please."
Hannibal retrieved a cool washcloth and a towel from the bathroom. He went to Will and placed the towel under his arm, with the cloth laying on top. Will exhaled, his body sinking into the mattress a bit.
"Better?" Hannibal lay his hand over the damp cloth. Will nodded.
"You may rest for as long as you need to, Will," Hannibal said, straightening up. "Can I get you anything?" Nothing. "Okay. I'll just be—"
A rough wheeze escaped Will's throat. "No," he whimpered. "No, no." He reached out to grab Hannibal's wrist. "Don't go."
He didn't have to say another word. He could have never spoken again, and those words still would have been enough. Hannibal immediately sat down on the side of the bed, and Will's hand moved down to lace their fingers together. "I'm right here," Hannibal said.
The crackling of the fire along with the warm meal in his stomach quickly sent Will back to sleep, his grip on Hannibal loosening.
He was so quiet. The only noise came from his soft breathing. Hannibal couldn't take his eyes off of him: his soft lips, his long lashes, the stubble on his jaw, smooth and tan chest...he was so pretty. Hannibal archived the image in his mind, cementing Will into the palace in his mind. Will would get the best bedroom. There would be a dog— no, two, he deserved a treat— curled up against him. Oh, anything for him.
He couldn't help himself. He leaned in and brushed the hair from Will's warm forehead, kissing him there. It felt so right that he did it again.
--------------------------------------------------
"You're up." Hannibal stood in the doorway, smiling softly. He'd left Will to rest, cleaning up the kitchen and devouring the rest of the meat, when he heard Will's hoarse call from the other side of the house. He had gotten there embarrassingly fast.
     "When did I get here?" Will rubbed his head. "Why is my hair wet? Did you wash it?"
     Hannibal entered, forehead creasing in concern. "I brought you here. You were awake not too long ago. You showered completely on your own. I gave you something to eat, a lot of water. You don't remember any of it?"
     Alarmed, Will shook his head. "No. No, I don't remember that. Should I remember?"
     "Hey, it's alright. You were probably in shock. It makes sense now; you didn't say a word the entire time. It's amazing what human brains can block out." He came to stand by the bed. "You've been asleep another hour now." It was a little past ten now, well into the evening. Well past their scheduled therapy hour.
Will's face turned pink. "You fed me?" He blinked, worried. "It wasn't—"
     "Hush. Just soup. Nothing wrong with it." Nothing wrong in his opinion, at least. That was the truth. He didn't regret feeding the meal to Will— the look on his face told him it was worth it. He'd been so hungry.
"I..I don't know what to say. Thank you."
     "Of course. It only takes a few minutes to make. Already had all of the ingredients." Hannibal paused, face falling slightly. "I was going to make it for Abigail." The memory had just now dawned on him. That's why he'd had the stock ready.
     Will bowed his head and looked away. There was a brief, mournful silence.
     "You hadn't been eating or drinking again."
     Will frowned. "I'm not a child."
     "No, you're not. Even children eat when they're hungry and drink when they're thirsty."
     "I get too busy!" Will snapped. "I don't think about it much."
     Hannibal chuckled. "I'm not attacking you, Will. I'm just warning you. If you keep putting it off, you're going to have more and more situations like tonight. Like the scene in the motel. Your body is going to shut down much easier, and there could be a moment where it doesn't have the strength to get back up."
     "Maybe I don't care. Maybe then I could finally rest."
You are not dying if I have anything to say about it. "You don't mean that. You seemed rather afraid to die earlier."
Will lifted the cloth, peering at the wound underneath. "What did you do?" He asked. "How is it just...gone?"
     Hannibal shrugged. "There comes a point where it just happens. It's natural for me." He could have gone to the length of explaining it all, but it would make him sound like a lunatic.
     Will stared down at the blankets. "...Why are you helping me?"
He tilted his head, confused. "I like to help those I care about. Don't you?"
     "I do. But this feels undeserved."
     "Can I not help without ulterior motive? Can I not take care of my friend?"
     "You're the Devil."
     Hannibal kneeled by the bed, resting his arms on the mattress. He hated that Will still couldn't find a way to trust him. His name had been smeared by all these false legends. "I am the Devil, but that doesn't automatically make me evil. I'm just the antithesis of God."
     "I don't see the difference."
     "Darkness is the antithesis of light. Does that mean either of them is bad?" Hannibal shook his head. "No. Technically, there is no 'good'. What one considers to be good is different from another. Same with evil. The world was created in order to be very black and white: darkness and light, joy and despair. What God didn't realize at the time is that giving people free will guarantees that they'll live in the grey. The in-between."
     "Right. Good and evil are subjective. But I thought God and the Devil were meant to be the exceptions."
     "We did not come into this world with that express purpose. We came into this world as Light and Darkness. Not Good and Evil. The world has twisted our story so much that the entire plot is now rewritten."
"You came into the world? Like, you didn't create it?"
"Right. The Universe created me."
"There's something bigger than you. Something more powerful." Will blinked. "That...that never crossed my mind. You're unstoppable. You're already all-powerful."
     "But you forget that I have human emotion, Will. Sometimes that means I just want to help." Hannibal rested his chin on his folded arms. "And sometimes I just like to make a meal for my friend."
     Sadness clouded Will's face. He lay his head back down on the pillow, turning onto his side to face Hannibal. Their faces were close. "Thank you."
     "Of course."
     "And thank you for this." Will lightly touched the towel on his shoulder.
     "Do you need to talk about what happened in the barn? The decision you made?"
     Will sighed. "I don't know what came over me."
     "You were angry. I could see the relief in your eyes when you said the words."
     "I was mad at him for hurting me. I just wanted everything to be over. And..I don't know."
     "What?"
     "I think I wanted the power again. After he took so much of it from me. But do I really have the power, making you do my dirty work?"
"You've been clever. You've killed in self-defense, you've asked me to kill for you...you're very good at dodging direct sin."
Despite worldly beliefs, Hell was extremely hard to get into. The only way to ensure one's fate in Hell was to let Sin completely overtake one's soul, and harm other people while doing so. Elliot had committed a sin, sure, but his Soul was still pure inside. He simply wanted to help. It wasn't enough to get into Hell. Neither was lust, nor gluttony, nor any of the sins; the issue came when you hurt the innocent because your soul was utterly corrupted.
     Will paused. "That was intentional."
Pride washed over Hannibal. Will was always going to surprise him, and he loved it. He reached up to stroke Will's hair, smoothing it down over and over. There was a split second where Will's stony expression faltered, where his eyelids fluttered in a slow blink as he let Hannibal touch him.
"What a cunning boy you are, Will," he teased. "Reap the benefits and avoid the punishments. Did you get the power you wanted?"
     "Yes," Will whispered in reply. "I want to care, but I don't think I do. It's my fault he's dead. It's my fault Nicholas is dead."
     "I don't know what you mean. They both killed themselves." Hannibal gave a knowing smile.
     "But it's all going over my head. I don't feel anything. Just..energy. Nicholas and Elliot were just things. Light and air and color. They weren't anything but that."
     "Good." Hannibal touched his wrist.
     Will shuddered as the realization crossed his face. "You want me like this," he said. "I become something different when I'm with you. And you want that. You're changing me."
     "And yet you're still here. And yet you called me in the middle of the night to share your secrets with me. You cried out for me, as opposed to anyone else."
     "And you answered."
     "Indeed I did."
     Will's voice caught in his throat. "You're the only one who ever has," he said. "That's why I'm here."
     Hannibal's hand moved down to Will's cheek, cupping it. He leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, and he could feel Will's pulse thumping from his neck.
     "Have you ever been taken care of, Will?"
     "No. I can take care of myself. I've always done that."
     "But that doesn't mean you should." He could feel his Soul overflowing with devotion. He wanted to revolve around Will, a planet around the all-powerful Sun. "I'm so sorry, Will. I'm sorry that no one has taken care of you."
"Thank you," he whispered. "It's nice."
     "You used to dream of dead girls when you slept," Hannibal said. "Tell me, what do you dream of now? What did you dream of the night you called me?"
What goes on in that remarkable brain of yours? I would give anything to see the world through your eyes. Do you dream of me the same way that I dream of—
     "You."
     Yes, yes, yes. Hannibal leaned even closer, their faces now millimeters apart. There was discernible energy between them, static between their lips.
"I don't understand what's happening," Will murmured. "I don't understand."
"You will. I promise. And I'll be here for every moment of it."
"Hannibal." It was a mere utterance of his name, but it felt like a cry of worship, a plea for mercy, a lover's song.
"Will?"
     "Kiss me." The words escaped Will's mouth in a desperate breath.
Hannibal did just that, letting the distance reduce to nothing.